Far from the Madding Crowd, by Thomas Hardy

Chapter 17

In the Market-place

ON Saturday Boldwood was in Casterbridge market house as usual, when the disturber of his dreams
entered and became visible to him. Adam had awakened from his deep sleep, and behold! there was Eve. The farmer took
courage, and for the first time really looked at her.

Material causes and emotional effects are not to be arranged in regular equation. The result from capital employed
in the production of any movement of a mental nature is sometimes as tremendous as the cause itself is absurdly minute.
When women are in a freakish mood, their usual intuition, either from carelessness or inherent defect, seemingly fails
to teach them this, and hence it was that Bathsheba was fated to be astonished today.

Boldwood looked at her — not slily, critically, or understandingly, but blankly at gaze, in the way a reaper looks
up at a passing train — as something foreign to his element, and but dimly understood. To Boldwood women had been
remote phenomena rather than necessary complements — comets of such uncertain aspect, movement, and permanence, that
whether their orbits were as geometrical, unchangeable, and as subject to laws as his own, or as absolutely erratic as
they superficially appeared, he had not deemed it his duty to consider.

He saw her black hair, her correct facial curves and profile, and the roundness of her chin and throat. He saw then
the side of her eyelids, eyes, and lashes, and the shape of her ear. Next he noticed her figure, her skirt, and the
very soles of her shoes.

Boldwood thought her beautiful, but wondered whether he was right in his thought, for it seemed impossible that this
romance in the flesh, if so sweet as he imagined, could have been going on long without creating a commotion of delight
among men, and provoking more inquiry than Bathsheba had done, even though that was not a little. To the best of his
judgement neither nature nor art could improve this perfect one of an imperfect many. His heart began to move within
him. Boldwood, it must be remembered, though forty years of age, had never before inspected a woman with the very
centre and force of his glance; they had struck upon all his senses at wide angles.

Was she really beautiful? He could not assure himself that his opinion was true even now. He furtively said to a
neighbour, “Is Miss Everdene considered handsome?”

“Oh yes; she was a good deal noticed the first time she came, if you remember. A very handsome girl indeed.”

A man is never more credulous than in receiving favourable opinions on the beauty of a woman he is half, or quite,
in love with; a mere child’s word on the point has the weight of an R.A.‘s. Boldwood was satisfied now.

And this charming woman had in effect said to him, “Marry me.” Why should she have done that strange thing?
Boldwood’s blindness to the difference between approving of what circumstances suggest, and originating what they do
not suggest, was well matched by Bathsheba’s insensibility to the possibly great issues of little beginnings.

She was at this moment coolly dealing with a dashing young farmer, adding up accounts with him as indifferently as
if his face had been the pages of a ledger. It was evident that such a nature as his had no attraction for a woman of
Bathsheba’s taste. But Boldwood grew hot down to his hands with an incipient jealousy; he trod for the first time the
threshold of “the injured lover’s hell.” His first impulse was to go and thrust himself between them. This could be
done, but only in one way — by asking to see a sample of her corn. Boldwood renounced the idea. He could not make the
request; it was debasing loveliness to ask it to buy and sell, and jarred with his conceptions of her.

All this time Bathsheba was conscious of having broken into that dignified stronghold at last. His eyes, she knew,
were following her everywhere. This was a triumph; and had it come naturally, such a triumph would have been the
sweeter to her for this piquing delay. But it had been brought about by misdirected ingenuity, and she valued it only
as she valued an artificial flower or a wax fruit.

Being a woman with some good sense in reasoning on subjects wherein her heart was not involved, Bathsheba genuinely
repented that a freak which had owed its existence as much to Liddy as to herself, should ever have been undertaken, to
disturb the placidity of a man she respected too highly to deliberately tease.

She that day nearly formed the intention of begging his pardon on the very next occasion of their meeting. The worst
features of this arrangement were that, if he thought she ridiculed him, an apology would increase the offence by being
disbelieved; and if he thought she wanted him to woo her, it would read like additional evidence of her
forwardness.